portrait of the author as a human being
There's something deeply gratifying about this account of C.S. Lewis' gracious, respectful attitude toward his young readers during his lifetime, regardless of what one may think of his writing*. Enduring kindness in the face of enormous success is a commendable accomplishment unto itself.
*And what is my attitude toward Lewis' works—chiefly the Narnia Chronicles? Ambivalence, I suppose. I devoured the seven volumes sometime around the age of nine, after my third grade teacher, Mrs. B___, began reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe aloud in class and I became impatient with her piecemeal pace. My innate completism impelled me through the series. I recall being childishly satisfied with, and unquestioning of, the literature at the time, and subsequently forgot most of the details during the following years. I didn't become reacquainted with the stories until Disney and Walden Media unleashed the first overproduced feature adaptation in 2005: which, while handsomely mounted, was also pretty corny in its Christmassy religiosity—a trait, it transpired, it had inherited directly from its source material.
I haven't caught Prince Caspian yet. I can't say I've much enthusiasm for it, but I suppose I'll have to sit down and watch it at some point—if for no other reason than to satisfy my still extant completism. Old habits die hard.
*And what is my attitude toward Lewis' works—chiefly the Narnia Chronicles? Ambivalence, I suppose. I devoured the seven volumes sometime around the age of nine, after my third grade teacher, Mrs. B___, began reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe aloud in class and I became impatient with her piecemeal pace. My innate completism impelled me through the series. I recall being childishly satisfied with, and unquestioning of, the literature at the time, and subsequently forgot most of the details during the following years. I didn't become reacquainted with the stories until Disney and Walden Media unleashed the first overproduced feature adaptation in 2005: which, while handsomely mounted, was also pretty corny in its Christmassy religiosity—a trait, it transpired, it had inherited directly from its source material.
I haven't caught Prince Caspian yet. I can't say I've much enthusiasm for it, but I suppose I'll have to sit down and watch it at some point—if for no other reason than to satisfy my still extant completism. Old habits die hard.